A collection of consciousness with a side of mashed potatoes
It's so hard to do poems of simple images that have a resonance beyond the addition of 1 + 1 + 1 + 1..., and yet you succeed wonderfully here.I could imagine this as a translation of a poem written in the year 1348 or 1877 or 2012 by some zen poet who has been studying winter as a notebook.It's the way a Shaker room (to speak of the extinct) can be a luminous poem.We covet such emptiness...as though it were something we can't afford.And. Living here. I suppose we can't.
I apsire to be a shaker. I'm always purging the layers of life that build up around me and in me. Thanks for your comment.
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